Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drink divine:
But might I of Jove's Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon did'st onely breathe,
And sent'st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but thee.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The song is from the comedy " Volpone, " and no, the Carpe Diem approach didn't work that time. The middle lines are from a poem by Catullus to " Lesbia, " word for word. Ancient tactic!